Sing My Song, Darling
by CaptainAutumn
Summary: Loki's final punishment is decided; he is sent to earth, godly powers stripped from him. He begins to realize that being a mortal is no easy task, for he begins to feel things he's never craved before. Loki/Natasha. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Council of Despair

Captain, here! I noticed I've become particularly obsessed with Avengers, as of late, and Loki/Natasha has severely interested me ever since I found the pairing. So, I thought I'd put my own contribution in. I hope the writing's decent, I hope that you like it, and I hope that I have some reviews coming my way. Maybe I have high expectations, but, you know. It's all very nice to have.

Enjoy!

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It's nearly been four months since the grand battle of New York, and repairs are still going on. Bodies are still being found. The realization of just how devastating this entire thing turned out to be has not passed on. And it all seemed to be from one man. He caused utter terror and sorrow on the little planet known as Earth since it made him gleeful.

However, this demi-god, after months of little punishments that seemed no more than chastising, is about to be sent back down to Earth with his brother, Thor. And, as always, the Avengers have to show up to make sure no problem is caused because of this. They will, obviously, all keep an eye on Loki out of pure free will. After all, no one could have him skipping away from a pile of rubble that used to be a city. And even if that did happen, they would all take pleasure in putting him as much pain as possible.

In the heart of Stark Tower sat five of the six Avengers, since Thor had been sent on the duty of practically babysitting Loki and retrieving him for their meeting. Tony sat at the front of the table, feet propped up on the desk as he messed on what looked like a see-through phone. Steve was standing, looking a bit bewildered by the large screen that took up one wall. Bruce sat patiently, looking like an obedient child as he waited for his breakfast. Clint simply toyed around with one of his arrows, flicking the tip constantly and making a loud ringing noise, which Tony would often look up to with a face of irritation. Natasha seemed a little tense, however, sitting slightly hunched forward in her chair.

Tony's little amount of patience finally wore out. "Agent. Your arrows are fine."

Clint looked up for a few moments, looking virtually impassive. "Yes, but it doesn't hurt to check them." Perhaps this was more of an excuse to say, "I just want to be able to stick an arrow into Loki's gob if I'm allowed to."

Tony narrowed his eyes for a few moments, and if processing those words, before giving a sigh and took his legs off the table. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You're not on a mission, cupcake. We're in a meeting," he pointing to the large, glass window, "And I don't plan on having any of these broken because of one of your little, metal toys."

Clint merely said nothing, and went back to checking over the arrow. Meanwhile, with a small flash that made Steve toddle off to the side, Thor and Loki arrived into the room. The smaller god was cuffed, and looked quite tired. His shoulders were slumped, his eyelids drooping, and dark circles lay beneath his eyes. He was also pale- or, at least, more than usual. Emerald eyes no longer had that characteristic shine.

Thor looked in relatively better condition, which was somewhat of a given. However, no one even seemed to notice him, and rather, all of their attention was directed to Loki. Each had a different look, but it all carried out the same feeling; hatred. Loki just seemed to give a small sigh, and moved to sit in the open chair in front of him. When he took a step forward, everyone immediately tensed. It seemed, even though bound by cuffs, that he was still capable of horrid torture.

Thor sat down next to him, giving a long glance around the room. He pitied his brother more than he hated him- even if he was adopted- and therefore these sharp stares everyone seemed to direct towards the weary god made him quite uncomfortable. Perhaps he still was the only one who believed something good would come out of this, that Loki would be redeemed. Alas, some things weren't meant to be.

Steve sat back down as well, and Thor finally spoke up,

"After a few months, my brother's punishment has finally been decided. As we can see, he broke New York City into pieces with the Chitauri as his allies, and he must recognize his actions."

Everyone seemed to just look bored with the introduction. They knew exactly what Loki had done, and therefore they believed he deserved no more than the same fate he had bestowed upon the city; death. The fact that he was still alive pissed off just about everyone.

Thor continued, "The Allfather, Odin, has finally decided what punishment his son should have. He has been sent to live on earth as a mortal; he no longer is connected to Asgard. All powers he once had are gone."

This sent a ripple of surprise through everyone, some more than others. However, the idea of Loki being no more than an Earthly mortal was surprisingly appealing. It meant that he was even weaker than all of them, most being superhuman. Sure, the two assassins were merely extremely fit, and Tony Stark was a priss in a suit, but Loki was _still_ far weaker than any of them. He couldn't do anything if they wanted to mock him or toy with him. He was vulnerable, unable to even lift a finger against them.

Well, he could still throw a good punch or two, but that wouldn't end too well on his part.

"For an Asgardian, this punishment might as well be worse than death. Odin saw it fit for the crime his son had done. For now, he will stay inside Stark Tower until he is trusted enough for his own adobe."

Tony's eyes widened considerably, and he sat up straight in his chair. "Hold on!" he adjusted his sunglasses (Lord knew why he had to wear them inside a building), "Why do I get the job of babysitter? Give him to this hawk guy or Red, White and Blue. They'll keep an eye on him. Or what about you? I mean-"

"It is Odin's orders. I cannot do anything about them, Stark."

"And I don't want him either," Steve piped in.

"Are you kidding me?" Tony immediately protested, "You guys can just have this dude right back. I'll piss Bruce off just so he can toss him all the way back to your planet."

Banner cleared his throat, eyeing Tony with a small glare. However, the man really couldn't pull off an angry look.

"No offense." Stark threw in, before turning his attention back to Thor. "Earth doesn't want him, and if Ass-guard, or whatever it was, doesn't want him either, just put him in purgatory or something. My God, don't make more people suffer."

Thor seemed to be growing a little tense at Tony's complaints. "No one should ever defy Father's orders, and I am not about to. Loki will live in your home on your planet. I am sorry."

Bruce decided to now become part of the conversation, "Can't we put him just is a secluded area? Bring food to him if he needs it? That way we won't have to deal with him."

"But what if he gets out of wherever you're putting him? Even if you put him into the ocean or one of those big jungles you have in South America, he can escape. Even without powers, he can terrorize cities again," interjected Steve.

Clint hopped right on in the heated conversation. "Then we shoot him down before he can make his move."

Thor looked towards Banter with a look of worry, reaching out his hand. "No one will shoot my brother! He will stay on Earth, quietly, as instructed."

"As if, " Tony was already back with his complaining, "He escapes just about everything we can hold him in. He got out of that big glass cage meant for Greensprout and tossed you in it."

"Would you stop talking about 'him?' It's not my fault you know."

"Whatev-"

"But I am fine. Loki will be located here, and you cannot do anyth-" Thor was interrupted by Clint.

"Why can't be put him in one of SHIELD's containment chambers? He'll stay secure."

Bruce glanced over at the Hawk. "That's a better idea. We won't have to worry about him escaping. Mostly."

Tony pointed an accusing finger at Banner. "Ha! That's just it! 'Mostly.' He'll still get out."

Thor gave a groan, turning back towards the irritating fellow. "He will stay put. He has promised to do so."

"Nope. He's escaped before, and no doubt he'll just do it again."

Natasha finally broke in, her last nerve having been split. "Oh, _bozhe moi_. You're children! Sure, I don't think he should be here, in Stark Tower, either-"

"Thank you for your support, sweetie pie." Stark looked overly smug.

"_But_," the word came out sharply, and the smirk was wiped off Tony's face, "SHIELD isn't going to keep him either. Fury'll just try and kill him off."

Steve looked towards her. "And is there a problem in that? It's no more than he deserves."

"He's right. It's fitting." Clint always seemed to have to add little things in.

"I cannot have anybody killing my brother; not even if he deserves it. Odin wants to see if he is capable of being good." Thor would, no doubt, continue on with his argument. Family was family, after all, no matter how they acted or where they came from.

"You always have to talk." Tony was still bitching. He would, also, continue to fight. He was much too prideful to give up, after all. "Either you bring him back to your planet, or we murder him on this one. Your choice."

This seemed to bring out a whole new rage in the entire crowd.

"I sort of agree with Thor, as bad as it sounds," Bruce said, a little quietly, "No one really deserves to be killed. I mean, we've all murdered, intentional or not. But does that mean they really needed to die?"

This stoked a fire in Steve's patriotic little heart. "They threatened our country. That makes it all the more reason for us to make sure they don't do it again."

Both assassins agreed that all of their victims had deserved death. Even if they hadn't done anything wrong. Their missions meant more than their own feelings.

"It's four against two," Tony said, giving a small shrug, "Let's just get rid of him now."

"It is not as if I want to be here either."

The subtle voice immediately shut up the entire room, and everyone's attention immediately turned to Loki. He looked moderately irritated, but his depressing look more so gave the idea that he was just tired of the conversation.

"You do not understand how painful it is to be turned mortal. Yet, it is my Father's wish. I will not escape, per his request. I will stay quietly." He gave a small sigh, looking at the window ahead of him. "I intend little to no harm on this planet, anyways."

"Loki," warned Thor.

This issued a smirk from the dark-haired god, or otherwise now mortal. "Well, I do have a right to hate these humans. They're awfully feeble. It's a pity that I've been turned into one of them." He soon began to look around the room, eyes stopping on each Avenger.

Tony. "I almost took down the entire ship, had it not been for you. Repairing it was such a bad idea. Imagine the damage it could have done."

Bruce. "I still ache, every once in a while, from your treatment. I hope that something similar is done to you."

Steve. "I don't like you. I can't name an exact reason, but…" he looked at the ceiling, briefly, before making eye contact with him once more, "Perhaps it's because you so easily destroyed my allies with that annoying shield of yours. Yes…"

Clint. "You were such a good soldier. It's a pity you turned back to this ugly side. I hope you change your mind one day.

Lastly, Natasha. He had to pause on her for a few moments, before his smirk spread into a grin. "My promise is still kept. No matter how it is done, I shall make your petty partner torture you in every way possible. Slip knives into your skin, chop off your limps, scoop out your eyes, and then mutilate your carcass once I feel satisfied. Then, I will bring him to consciousness, and let him see his beautiful work-"

A shaky sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes to imagine the scene. Everyone had petrified stares upon him. He finally opened his eyes once more, and those emeralds had been polished.

"I will explain every detail of what he did, and no matter how much he denies it, I will make sure it is seared into his brain. Once that's done, I will split his skull apart, letting that precious mind spill on the ground. I do not care what happens afterward. I will carry this out. However," he inhaled deeply, and then exhaled his breath as he seemed to calm himself down, "I think I will keep you around before that final act. You look far too much fun to kill off so soon. You are fit for so many uses." That grin grew even wider upon his last sentence.

The room was in a deathly silence, and no one realized even a few seconds had passed until they all saw Natasha with Clint's arrow that he had been toying with grasped in her hand, the tip pressed against Loki's forehead.

"Shut up, you cur."

She meant it in the worst way possible, but it only made him release a hissy laugh. That toothy smile never abandoned its master's face, and he tilted his head slightly.

"Does it make you afraid, knowing what I am capable of, even without powers? Words sometimes are more powerful than actions. They say I am silver-tongued. Do you agree?"

She only responded by pressing the arrow a little harder against his head.

"I see. I will torture you for a while, now. It will make it all the more fun, I can see. Imagine, everything I could do. Everything I'd make _you_ do." His voice then dropped to a very lower whisper, to where even she could only just barely make out the words. "You will kneel for me, eventually. Be my follower. Be _mine_."

She pressed the arrow against his forehead hard enough until it drew blood, and Clint proceeded to grab her ankles, dragging her off the table. She landed on the floor with a thump, and he snatched the arrow from her quickly. Her hand was still clenched in a fist where the shaft had been, and she stared up at the ceiling. She almost seemed in a trance.

Wine dripped from the puncture in the demi-god's head, slowly dripping down the curve of his forehead. It dipped in the valley of where his nose connected to his face, before going down a crack along the left side. The maroon snake slithered to his curled lips, where his tongue reached up to gently lap off the delicacy. Oh, how wonderful blood tasted upon his tongue. Metallic, bitter, fiery; it was gorgeous.

Thor grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him up, even as they walked along, Loki tried to peer over the table at Natasha, who still looked blankly into a world that never existed in reality.

"I will lead my brother to his quarters," said Thor, in a voice that did not seem fit for him. It was unsettlingly quiet.

Clint offered a hand down to the tense body of Natasha, who finally accepted it after a painfully long wait. She pulled herself up, and soon everyone began moving out of their chairs as well. it had been a particularly eventful meeting, and as Romanoff shuffled out of the room with Clint as her guide, patiently moving along with her slow pace at her side, she pondered over the god-turned-mortal's words. She doubted he'd ever be able to accomplish the task, but his words had done something to her. Something she hadn't felt in a while.

Fear.

It was a particularly odd feeling, with that hand clenching at her heart, forcing it to pump blood quickly through her body with each squeeze. Her stomach was turned into a clown's balloon, being tied into several knots in order to make a dog for a demented child. She hadn't felt it in such a long time.

And what was even worse is that she almost liked the feeling.

Almost.


	2. Chapter 2: Drinks Don't Fix Everything

Captain, here! I didn't even expect to get any reviews! Thank you so much!

I guess I also have a soft spot for Clint/Natasha. It's not going to completely decorate this story, but I might include it every now and again. I just suppose this chapter feels like having it in there.

As always, reviews are appreciated. And again, thank you for the reviews last time.

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Clint had asked Natasha if he could take her to a bar for a few drinks. She had agreed without missing a beat. After all, she needed something strong enough to get her mind of Loki's speech a little while earlier.

Indeed, that thing had managed to affect her more than she had wanted. She wished she had drove that arrow in farther, harder, just so she didn't have to deal with him anymore. It would've been a sweet release, for once. She wouldn't of had to worry about him anymore, and she could go about her daily life with one less thing on her mind. However, he was stuck there, that shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

He simply didn't want to leave her head. It was awful.

However, once the evening air gave a gently flurry of kisses on every exposed inch of her skin, her mind seemed to lull into a much quieter mode. Clint walked with that same, strict waltz that he always did, but she let herself relax. She merely moseyed along, her shoulders settling as she released a sigh. There was no reason to threat. He had practically been turned into a mortal, so he could no longer do any harm. He was weak.

Clint broke the sweet silence, though his voice soon brought back the comfort she had found in the still night air.

"You know not to listen to him." That seemed as if that was all he was going to say. He was such a quiet soul, rarely speaking out unless he needed to. Perhaps his years as an assassin had affected him differently than her's had done to her.

He finally cleared his throat, and continued on, though not all too willingly. "I mean, about him using me to kill you. And then killing me. He can't do that. Not anymore."

She bobbed her head in agreement, glancing over at him. She placed her hands into her jacket pockets as they began to chill. Instead of wearing her usual attire, she'd gone more casual today. There was no reason to suit up, after all. Instead, she wore a green tank that could be buttoned up and down just a little past her bust with three buttons. It was a little frizzle around the neck, and especially so near the v-like dip. She also wore khaki pants, with a few extra pockets and whatnot. A dark brown sweater was draped over this.

"I know. I just think, in the heat of the moment, he got to me. I lost my cool, I suppose."

Clint paused briefly, and nodded in return. "Yes. But never find anything reasonable in what he says. He's a liar. Trickster."

The God of Mischief did seem to play in that role, no? It was only fitting, after all. And though she wouldn't admit it aloud, he was indeed very skilled with his tongue. Weaving in and out of silky smooth words, he could form his own reality. He could then twist letter into his own devious minions, making them burrow inside your head. He was more so a god of speech above anything else. It was frightening.

"I won't. I only believe someone once I'm satisfied with an interrogation, remember?" He had seen her once or twice when she was attempting to get information. Sometimes, the victim didn't even know that he or she was even being interrogated. However, she could split truth from lie, and therefore she knew once she was done. "He can never do anything he says. I won't let him."

Clint proceeded to just keep quiet, as if pondering over her words. It did seem to be true, but he was still quite worried for her. He might've just been his partner for missions to the naked eye, but they shared a bond that no one else could see. It wasn't romantic, as some may have wondered (they were not friends with benefits), but rather it was a deep bond of friendship. Such a relationship was hard to come by. They did everything as other friends might; listen to your problems, help you along the way, pitch in to buy something when you're low on money.

But their bond was much stronger. The trusted their lives with each other. Their personal information would always be kept secret, no matter the circumstance. They could tell secrets, and neither party would beg for more or feel awkward about the whole situation. Even coming upon one another in particularly embarrassing situations (one of the worst being coming in on him running around his apartment stark naked, since apparently there wasn't a need for clothes when you worked out) they would simply give a nod before carrying on their daily business.

It was a very special thing they shared, and no one could sever it. Not this god, not any god. They were stuck together because they'd formed the putty themselves, mending any pores until it hardened, making sure they were always by each other's sides.

Finally, the bar came into view, and Clint stepped on in, not even bothering to hold open the door for her. In fact, it almost seemed as if he'd forgotten about her, but he was just reverting back to being an introvert. Oh, he was so difficult to deal with, sometimes. They sat down at the main, and Natasha quickly ordered for both of them. She knew exactly what Clint liked.

After a little while, their beers were placing in front of them, and Natasha began taking ginger sips of it. Clint, however, single stared down at the yellowish liquid inside of his cup, still contemplating.

"What's the matter with you?" she questioned. She could understand him being quiet, but he often hoped right to it when it came to alcohol. He was acting awfully strange, and she didn't like it one bit.

"I just don't like what he said to you," he quietly responded, "It gives me the chills."

The Hawk getting the chills. Unheard of. She was destined to hear more, though she wasn't too eager to prod.

"And I thought you were the one telling me not to listen to him."

He looked over at her, eyebrows knitted tightly together. Oh, so he was still worried. How bothersome. "I'm not listening to him. I just don't enjoy how easily he can say those things about you. It's disgusting."

"It was, but that's not my problem anymore. He had his moment, and now that it's over, we don't have to worry about it." She returned to sipping at her drink, looking at the several bottles of alcohol neatly lined up along the dimly lit shelf. Loki's words

_You will kneel for me, eventually. Be my follower. Be _mine_._

Had scared her slightly. He was no threat to her whatsoever, now weakened due to being cut off from Asgard, but he still carried a venomous aura about him. She didn't believe she had ever feared anyone before, so she wasn't quite sure how to react to the feeling. She mustn't bother herself with it. She quickly downed her drink, before holding it up in the air.

A bartender came over, taking the glass from her and going back to filling it up. She gave a glance over at Barton, who still had those thin eyebrows tied together. His lips were thinned out, and he still hadn't taken a sip from his drink. It was just painful watching this.

She slapped his arm, perhaps a bit harder than needed, and after a few moments, his head finally turned back towards her. His eyes were actually showing emotion, for once. Rather than a grey, they held a light blue colour. It was strange how the shade of his irises changed with him emotion.

"Snap out of it, or else I'm going to do it myself." She raised up a hand warningly, and her moved away from it. He stayed quiet for a little while longer before grabbing his drink, taking a few hearty sips of it. She lowered her hand, and turned her attention up to the screen over to her right.

It was the news, mostly discussing world affairs. It hadn't been that long ago before everything had been dedicated to New York. People placing flowers around houses where dead civilians had originally lived, mild riots on the outskirts, overhead views of all the destruction. Some had been able to get footage of the Avengers fighting off the Chitauri, though it had been fairly little. And she was thankful for that.

After all, an agent was supposed to stay below the radar.

Clint was watching as well, and he spoke up momentarily. "I hope there's no more missions for a while."

This surprised Natasha, and she glanced over at him. "Excuse me?"

He looked back down at Natasha, his eyes having reverted back to their normal grey colour. "I don't want to go on any more missions for now. We need to stay back to make sure he doesn't make it on the news again. He doesn't deserve publicity."

She thought about his words briefly, before giving a shrug, grabbing her glass. She brought it back up to her lips for a few moments, sipping down the fiery liquid. "It's strange saying you don't want to work. You looked about ready to kill the nurses when you were in the infirmary after you got away from Loki's control. You were dieing to go on a job."

"I didn't break away from his control."

"Whatever. I had to slam your head against a pole. That doesn't matter." She gave a small sigh, glancing back over at the small television. "You need to go on a mission. It calms you down."

Clint seemed to sigh, though it was subtle. "I'll stay, even if they call me out." After a few moments, one side of his mouth crinkled upwards ever so slightly. "I want to shoot him if he walks out of Stark Tower."

"We can't kill him."

"It'll only be a gut shot."

She paused from a few moments, before a small grin parted her lips. She gave a few short laughs. "But that would kill him now. He is mortal, after all."

"Then the leg."

"You may paralyze him there."

Clint now seemed to frown, and returned to sipping his drink. It seemed he wouldn't have an excuse to jam an arrow as far into Loki's chest as possible.

Natasha noticed his sudden change in attitude. "But you can still punch him if you want. I don't think breaking his jaw will make anyone angry."

"I'd rather break his neck."

"I know."

Clint seemed to be particularly tense towards Loki, but she supposed she could understand why. He constantly blamed himself for all the deaths he had caused when being under the control of Loki. Nothing would change his thoughts about that, unfortunately. And the fact that the demi-god had said such terrible things about him killing Natasha, he almost felt compelled to defend her. It was obvious she could take care of herself, but if it came down to him being controlled again, she wouldn't be able to kill him before he tortured her.

That was the dangerous thing about having a partnership. You grew too attached, and in a life-or-death situation, you were helpless. You were the main weakness of your partner, and vice-versa. If they were under threat, you'd throw yourself right into the battle in order to rescue them.

And the bond they shared made it even worse. When Natasha had heard that Clint had been compromised, she did everything in her power to escape the interrogation. Had it not been so few men, she could've possibly ended up injured. And on several other missions, Clint had hurt himself in an effort to provide backup. They depended on each other too much. If one was gone, the other could not complete any other task.

Perhaps that was why Loki had had such a tight leash on both of them. He quickly learned their special bond they had, and immediately turned it to where it would be useful. He could so easily break her by threatening Clint, and he loved it. He practically held her within his powerful hands, kneading her in the perfect way in order to help complete his overall mission. Eventually, it had backfired when she'd taken to injuring Clint, thus making Loki lose his control.

However, even after all these months, he had had a thread connected to her this whole time. Once or twice, he'd been able to invade her dreams from his cell in Asgard. He tortured her inside there, conjuring up his own reality and her worst nightmare. He could keep her asleep as long as he would have liked, continuing everything he was doing, but he always grew bored. It was not real, and therefore he could find no true joy inside of the dreams.

She hadn't told anyone of the false reality. It wouldn't of benefitted her, anyways. So, instead, she kept it to herself, and she'd sometimes have hallucinations, despite being awake. He had her wrapped around his finger, and he was quite prideful of this fact. He kept his plan to himself.

It was their dirty little secret.

Her hand tightly gripped her glass, her knuckles turning white as she continued to think of the dreams. However, she had managed to thin out the noose that he had tied around her neck; the knot was now made of weak, old rope. He was mortal, and he could no longer play his mind games. How much he must be suffering, how bored he must be not to have his little toy.

It brought her utter joy. She still may believe that his reality was truth, but now that he didn't have such a tight hold, the dreams simply transitioned to subconscious thoughts. Perhaps, one day, she could put him through a similar torture, see how he liked it. She had never been one for revenge, since that was a dangerous thing to want, but it seemed like the perfect idea. Let him have nightmares.

She finally came away from her thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her head whipped in the direction of Clint and his stoic face. "I believe it's your turn to 'snap out of it.'"

She stared for a little while longer before giving a small nod. "Yeah. I was just thinking. That's all."

He took his hand from her shoulder, and returned to his own mulling as he sipped at his drink. Perhaps she'd gotten a little too distracted. She didn't even need to think about Loki, anymore. Tony was his babysitter (though unwillingly) and Thor would check on him every now and again. There was no reason for her to even have the demi-god come into her mind.

Once Natasha finished off her beer, both agents stood, heading for the door. Clint offered to walk her back to her apartment, but she kindly refused. They proceeded to embrace in a friendly manner for a few moments, and then shook hands. It was their way of greeting and saying goodbye, it seemed.

"As long as you don't let him bother you, I'll keep him off my mind as well," he said, holding onto her hand tightly. He wasn't about to let her leave without a promise.

"Of course. I'm not that gullible."

He kept his hold for a while longer, before slowly releasing it. He stood a bit awkwardly for a little while longer, before making his way down the sidewalk. He disappeared into an alleyway, and she turned around.

She almost hand her fingers crossed upon her promise. It was impossible not to fret, though. She could tell herself not to, but that only made her brain crave those thoughts she attempted to will away. It was quite sick, actually.

She zipped up her sweater when a cool wind blew by, and her arms became riddled with goosebumps. She increased her pace to a fast walk, and her eyes narrowed slightly. This certainly wasn't enjoyable at all, but the fact that her forehead had a thin layer of sweat on it made it even worse. She was nervous, and it was almost for no apparent reason.

She wished she had agreed to Clint walking her home.

However, soon enough, the apartment building came into view, and she entered through the parking lot. She hurried up the stairs, getting to the third floor in record timing. She fumbled with her keys for a few moments, struggling to find them in her pockets, before unlocking the door. She quietly closed it behind her and applied every lock, before beginning her routine sweep of the apartment.

You never knew if someone was in a closet or underneath your bed, waiting to kill you, after all. However, upon completing her search, she sat on her bed, which springed her back up briefly. She mated this mattress. It was such a creaky thing, and she always woke up with a small pain in her back. But there was still no real reason to go out and buy a new one.

She stripped down to her undergarments, tossing the clothes she had been wearing on top of the hamper. She slipped beneath the relatively scratchy covers, and felt inside her pillow case. Her survival knife was still there. She felt between the crack that separated her mattress from the headboard. Her pistol was there was well.

Satisfied with the knowledge that her weapons remained in their designated spots, she allowed herself to turn on the lamp and close her eyes. She couldn't sleep in the dark. It was a childish fear, but one she could not overcome. Many things formed in utter darkness, after all. It was their source of power.

Darkness was quite the mischievous little force. It could appear anywhere, at anytime. It was a great cover during missions, but it often blinded you, just as well. She could count too many times where she'd been plunged into a dark warehouse or village, seeking out a victim. She would proceed stealthily through the damp blackness, coming up behind a guard. Ready to execute them, they would turn around

_Sunken eyes, sharp smile, inked hair. Hand around a small throat, breath seductively warm against an ear. Feminine hands bound by a magical force, a larger, more masculine one travelling down a stomach. Struggling is futile, so pleading fills the air. Sick, twisted pleading._

_No, no, no._

and she'd jam a knife into their throat.

_No_.

It seemed as if those torturous dreams would pay another visit tonight. How pitiful.


End file.
